


Just Go With It

by Kasuchi



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Challenge Response, Cunnilingus, F/M, Hotel Sex, Porn Battle, Prompt Fill, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 04:48:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasuchi/pseuds/Kasuchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>She gasps into his mouth, losing count of the booted steps as his tongue pushes into her mouth, attention faltering as she tastes his kiss at last, and it is warm and sweet and surprisingly tender.</em> Amy and Jake do Vice a favor, but then things take an unexpected turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Go With It

**Author's Note:**

> [Porn Battle XV](http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/65746.html) entry. Prompts: adrenaline, undercover, hotel, muscle, pineapples

Jake is rummaging through the accounts in the countdown room when Amy hears the footsteps coming down the stairs, heavy boots thumping against the hollow metal steps. 

"Jake," she hisses. "They're coming this way." 

"I know, I just--- give me a minute---!" He scrambles to set everything to rights, taking note of the files and their contents, making sure to remember what he's uncovered. 

Amy runs out of patience (and they're running out of time) so she counts to ten and then grabs him by the arm. He wasn't expecting that and overbalances, pressing them both against the wall across from the door to the counting room. He's managed to catch himself, one fist against the painted cinderblock wall six inches above her head, the other hand warm and large on her hip. 

The footfalls are closer -- she guesses they have fifteen seconds if that -- so she goes on instinct and pulls him toward her, pressing her mouth against his.

His reaction is immediate, and the effect is dizzying. She fumbles under the leather jacket he's got on over the button-down, popping open buttons hastily until she reaches his waist, unbuckling his belt and undoing the top button of his fly before tugging his hips into hers. 

He surprises her by lifting her up, and she's running on instinct and adrenaline (the footfalls are maybe eight seconds away) when she wraps her legs around his waist even as he pushes her into the wall, her dress half unzipped in the back and pooling around her navel, the stupid sparkly gold fabric too short and too tight for her usual tastes. 

They're still kissing when his hand finds its way into the cup of her strapless bra and his fingers close around her nipple, and she gasps into his mouth, losing count of the booted steps as his tongue pushes into her mouth, attention faltering as she tastes his kiss at last, and it is warm and sweet and surprisingly tender. It's entirely unexpected. She makes a soft sound and wraps her arms around his neck, fingers in his hair, as the footsteps finally stop.

A throat clears, but Amy can't hear it over the sound of the blood rushing in her ears. Jake's entire body is in her space, and the adrenaline rushing in her veins is making everything seem multiplied somehow. If they get caught snooping through the CDR, nothing good can happen. Plus there's him -- warm and firm and solid -- and Amy doesn't even know what she wants with that.

"Excuse me," the guy says loudly, and they finally pull apart, breathing hard. Jake is flushed, color creeping up his neck, and his eyes are wide. He tilts his head slightly and she dips her chin the smallest fraction, and his expression shifts. They untangle and Jake starts swearing loudly in an overdone Long Island accent, putting his clothes to rights. Behind him, Amy pulls up her stupid sparkly dress -- this is the _last_ time she does Vice a favor -- and fluffs her hair, putting on a sour expression and calling up her Brooklyn accent.

"What the fuck, man!" Jake is gesticulating like a man cockblocked. The other guy, who looks like a 6-foot-tall Joe Pesci, has the grace to look somewhat apologetic even as he tries to get Jake to calm down.

"You can't be in here, man. You gotta get out." 

"This is fucking ridiculous. I can't even bring my girlfriend to a private place in this joint? The hell kinda place is this?!" Jake pulls himself to his full height and huffs. "Come on, darling, we're getting outta here." 

Amy knows her cue when she hears it. "What, you ain't even gonna fight for my honor? This guy walked in on us and didn't even announce himself, just watched, the pervert." She shoots the guy a dirty look.

"Lady, I didn't see nothin', I swear." Vinnie, as Amy is calling him in her head, holds up two hands placatingly. He's got a piece, she notes, tucked into a shoulder-holster on his left side, meaning he's a rightie. Chances are he's got a knife on him somewhere, too. "Look, I saw the light, and the boss had me check it out. Now, I need youse to vacate the premises. Whether we do this the hard way or the easy way is up to youse two." 

Amy sighs dramatically. "Fine." She punches Jake in the shoulder. "This is your fault, What kind of moron are you?!"

" _Darling_ ," he says through gritted teeth, accent still in place. "You know I hate it when you call me a moron."

"The truth hurts, I know," she says flippantly, climbing up the stairs in front of Peralta back onto the main floor of the nightclub-slash-casino. They get onto the landing and Vinnie pulls the door shut firmly behind him, then stands guard. 

Jake puts his arm around her waist and leans in close. From a distance, it looks like he's kissing her, but he's muttering in her ear. "Those were definitely two sets of accounting books in there, as well as the master list of bets they're taking." 

She grins and tilts her head so that her hair falls across her neck, hiding her face from view. "Should I call it in?"

"Yeah, go ahead." He pats himself down until he finds his cell phone and hands it to her. She grins, and, seeing Vinnie still watching them, she gives Jake one more kiss before heading towards the ladies' room. 

She calls the Vice captain from the weird sofa they always seem to stash in the anteroom of womens' restrooms, and Amy gets the all-clear. The info they pass on is apparently enough for Vice to move forward, crediting an "anonymous tip," of course. 

Amy hangs up the phone and stares at the screen for a minute, thinking about rooftops and plastic dresses. She checks her reflection in the full-length mirror, tugs her dress back in place, and makes a decision. 

*** 

She finds Jake at the bar, sipping something from a square old-fashioned glass. When she slides onto a barstool next to him, he pushes a second glass she hadn't seen towards her. She glances over his shoulder and sees that Vinnie is gone, to be replaced by a darker-haired, sallow-complexioned wall of a man Amy opts to call Bruno. 

"Cheers," Jake says by way of greeting, snapping Amy's attention back to the present. He knocks back a startling amount of the glass's contents.

She slips him the cell phone and takes a drink. "Is this just---"

"Tonic water? Technically we're still on the clock." He laughs and shakes his glass. "Cranberry juice." 

She grins. "Speaking of, Vice asked us to check out something for them." She slides a hotel room key across the bar top to him, the hotel logo on the front of the envelope embossed and shimmering in the light. She glances over his shoulder again and sees Bruno giving them a look, so she turns her expression sultry and runs a hand from Jake's shoulder, down his chest. He leans forward and runs a hand up her leg, and it makes her shiver. 

She stands in her black stiletto heels, tonic water forgotten, and he follows suit, hand rubbing up and down her spine along the zip of her dress. For her part, she's using every seductive trick she's ever learned from sleepovers and glossy magazines. She licks her lips and watches as Jake gets distracted by the motion. He leans down and she tilts her head like he's kissing her neck, when in reality he's murmuring, "The guard's been watching the entire time, hasn't he?"

"Yes," she breathes, pulling back and tugging on his arm. "Let's go." She leads him through a sea of warm lights and chiming machines, over into the elevator bay, and pulls him into a car, leaning on the door close button to keep anyone else from coming in with them. Once the doors close, they stand about a foot apart facing each other in the tiny box, the mirrored walls creating a neverending series of them sizing the other up. 

"So what's the plan?" Jake asks, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

She smirks and props a hand on her hip. "You're gonna be my secondary on this?" She raises an eyebrow and shoots him the most disbelieving look she can muster. 

He tips his head and holds up his hands. "You're driving the car on this one, promise."

"Whatever I say goes?"

The elevator chimes. He glances up towards the light and then looks back at her. "Whatever you say goes." 

She grins as the doors open, then strides down the hall, turning the cardkey over in her hands with each step. At the door labeled 3904, she turns toward him and holds up the little cardboard envelope. "C'mon, Deathwish. You go first." 

He laughs sarcastically as he takes the plastic from her hands. "Ha, ha, very funny."

"Should I call you 'pineapples' instead?" 

"I still regret telling you that." He reaches out and slides the card into the reader, then pulls it out. The light on the lock flashes and then turns green. "Nice. How did you even get this key, Santiago?" He turns the knob and pushes the heavy door open, stepping into the dark hotel room.

She steps in behind him and pushes the door closed by leaning against it, using the sound of the lock catching to cover up her nervous inhale. "I booked it."

He turns around in the darkness -- she can just make out his silhouette in the gray light filtering in through the half-shuttered curtain, the lights of the city just bright enough through the gauzy material -- and takes a step toward her, a handspan the distance between them. "What?" His voice is hoarse suddenly, like his mouth is dry. She can feel it when he breathes out. 

She swallows. " _I_ booked the room. For the night." 

"Amy," he breathes, and she can see the faintest outlines of his expression, and it looks something like yearning, can feel the feather-light touch of his hand on her hip, like he's having trouble believing it's real, that she won't fade away. Somehow that makes her courageous. 

She reaches forward and pulls him into her space fully. "I'm the primary," she says huskily, scratching gently at the nape of his neck with her recently-manicured fingers. "What I say goes." She licks her lips. "Kiss me, Peralta." 

He doesn't need to be told twice, and it's a full-body experience. His tongue probes the seam of her lips, asking permission to pass even as his hands slide around her waist and lift her up so that their hips fit together. She feels his hands pull the zipper of her dress down in rough tugs, until there's the sound of material tearing and her cheap lamé dress falls in a pool at her feet. She kicks it away and digs her nails into his shoulders under his jacket while he pushes her more firmly against the door. She braces herself and wraps her legs around his waist, his hands running unobstructed up her thighs to her hips, while she works to push the jacket off his shoulders. 

"You're not nearly naked enough," she manages to gasp out, breaking the kiss to pull open his shirt. She hears a button or two pop off in her haste and realizes she couldn't care less. 

She feels more than sees him smirk. "Ten-four," he jokes, and shrugs off the jacket, the pulls the shirt over his head along with the t-shirt underneath. When he kisses her again, Amy groans into his mouth; he's all hot skin and surprisingly firm muscle underneath his clothes. She runs her hands over his shoulders and arms and marvels are how nicely he's shaped, breaks the kiss and tilts her head back and enjoys the feeling of a warm, male body fully covering hers.

His lips press against the underside of her jaw, then up at the hinge by her head. "I definitely didn't look like this before the academy," he murmurs. 

That makes her laugh, her nerves scattering as she giggles into his shoulder, nose pressed into his collarbone, arms clasped around his shoulders. She feels him smile against her shoulder, and puts her feet back on the floor. His hands settle on her waist, thumbs drawing slow circles on her abdomen. 

"Take off your pants," she commands, smiling. She reaches down and pulls off her stilettos, one at a time, dropping them with a _thud_ wherever they land.

He grins and takes slow steps backwards, unbuckling his belt and pulling it out of the loops of his jeans in one long, slow drag. It falls to the ground with a metallic clatter. She steps forward, watching his muscles shift in the shadows as he pops open his fly and steps out of his jeans and boxers and shoes, kicking them aside. The room seems to grow brighter, the lamp on the table slowly brightening, until he looks less like shadows and more distinct. Her gaze lingers on his erection in spite of herself, tongue sweeping across her lips. _We're really doing this_ , she thinks, and feels her hands start to shake.

He reaches out a hand. "C'mere," he says, voice low in a way she hasn't heard before. "Amy." 

She swallows and remembers her courage and closes the space between them, reaching up and threading her fingers in his short hair, other hand around his neck. His hands go around her waist, then up her back and then her strapless bra is gone, lost to some corner of the room. She feels him bend and then suddenly her back is on the silky-scratchy bedspread and she gasps. "Jake!" 

But he's a step ahead and trailing kisses up the inside of her leg while his knuckles press against her sex through her underwear -- the only pair of lace panies she owns, and she's extremely glad she wore them. _Good job, past Amy_ , she thinks, and then Jake is pulling them off of her and tossing them aside, pressing kisses to her skin as he drags his hands up, placing hickeys inside her thighs as he pushes a finger into her. She releases a hissing breath and reaches up to massage her breasts, hands moving in rhythm with his. 

He glances up and pulls his mouth away from her skin with an audible _pop_. "God, that's hot."

She sits up on her elbows. "You should put that big mouth of yours to better use." She raises an eyebrow at him. 

He laughs out loud at that. "Whatever you say, detective." With that, he pulls his fingers out from inside of her and licks them. She whimpers in spite of herself. He bends forward and licks a long, hot stripe up the length of her sex. The tip of his tongue circles her clit teasingly. She makes a frustrated noise and reaches up over her head, hands clutching the pillow she finds there in a death grip. He pulls one of her legs over his shoulder and pulls her closer with a rough tug on her hips and pushes his tongue inside her, hands smoothing up her abdomen, thumbs brushing against the undersides of her breasts. 

She feels her body writhe as his stupid, giant mouth teases her, licking ardently at her clit. She feels him shift and then he's pushing two fingers inside of her, curling them each time he thrusts them in so that they rub against her g-spot. She can feel her orgasm building, her abdomen tensing and her breath coming in shallower pants. 

Suddenly, he _sucks_ , pulling her clit into his mouth just as he pushes a third finger inside of her and she's gone, coming with a long moan that she doesn't even try to keep quiet. She releases her vice grip on the pillows and pulls him up by the hair to her mouth for a long, wet kiss. Even while she's licking her own come from his mouth, his fingers are still circling her, pushing her orgasm to crest again. This time, when she comes, she gasps into his mouth, hands in his hair, back arching dramatically off the bed, and she falls back, eyes open but not seeing the ceiling.

He sits up on his knees, smirking, pulling his fingers out and slowly licking them clean again, thumb wiping across his mouth before popping between his lips. She's still recovering but she can't help but watch him with rapt attention, dark eyes large in her face. 

When he's done and her breathing slows down to a more normal rate, she breaks the buzzing silence. "Holy _shit_." 

He laughs at that, a fully body that she she can see, abdomen contracting with each chuckle, and covers her body with his. "Just what I like to hear." He kisses her again, hands braced on either side of her shoulders. When he pulls back, he pushes her hair out of her eyes. "Do you know how amazing you look when you come apart like that?" He kisses her once more, this time more forcefully. Despite herself, she feels her body roar to life again, knees bending and legs opening in anticipation. 

"I knew your mouth was good for something," she returns wryly, skimming her nails against his scalp. She sighs contentedly as he presses kisses to her neck and shoulders, enjoying the attention. 

"We can stop here," he says quietly against her neck, lips buzzing against her skin. It's an obvious out, one that she appreciates but is simultaneously annoyed by. 

She sits up on her elbows and pins him with her gaze. "Wrong," she says flatly, but there's a smirk tugging at her mouth. She pushes so that they're flipped, her on top, and he makes some startled sound that turns into a groan when she slides him into her, eyes squeezed shut and fingers digging into her hips. She circles her hips experimentally, pushing forward and arching back, and his expression goes from pained to plaintive. 

"Amy," he groans, voice hoarse. "God, yes, Amy. Just keep doing that." 

"What, this?" She braces her hands against his chest and grinds her hips against him harder and faster, feeling him thrust deep inside of her. Her own breathing grows shallower, and she hears herself moan, a long and drawn out, "Yes," as she chases that feeling on the edge.

He swears and sits up, kissing her and tipping them over so that he's on top, and she feels him take control, his hips slamming into hers in rough strokes. She pushes his mouth into her neck, where he sucks at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, hard enough to leave a bruise. Gasping, one hand tugs at his hair as she gasps his name, while with the other she reaches between their bodies and circles her clit with her finger, once, twice.

On the third, she falls over the edge, her inner muscles convulsing. His lips pull away from her neck and he kisses her, his own orgasm hitting him, his hips stuttering against her spastically until he collapses against her, both of them breathing hard and covered in sweat. 

When they've both caught their breath, he rolls off of her so that they're lying on their sides facing one another, legs and feet still tangled together. He reaches out and pushes her hair out of her eyes, finger tracing her cheek and jaw before tipping her face so he can kiss her, so sweetly that Amy feels like all the air's been sucked out of the room. His lips are kiss-swollen and red in the lamplight, hair tousled, and dark eyes near-glowing, pupils blown wide. 

"Hi," she says, almost shy. 

"Pretty sure the neighbors know our names," he blurts out. She smacks him in the shoulder, but he catches her hand and presses a kiss to the palm. "Do you wanna talk about….this?" He glances down and then back up at her face.

"Not really," she says, reaching back and switching off the lamp, then turning so that his arm was draped across her stomach, her head tucked under his chin and against his chest. "Maybe in the morning." She presses a kiss to the back of the hand on her abdomen and twines her fingers in with his. 

Later, in the morning, he will wake to find her lips around his cock, slowly sucking him off into wakefulness. When he comes all over her chest, he picks her up and takes her into the shower, soaping her up and eating her out under the hot spray of the glass enclosure shower. 

They never get around to talking about it until they're getting dressed and Amy realizes her sparkly gold dress has been torn in half and is basically irreparable. Wordlessly, Jake hands her his shirt, half the buttons missing, and the belt, and she fashions a kind of shirtdress that covers enough for her to get home feeling human. Beneath his jacket, his undershirt manages to pass for normal clothes.

They make out against the hotel door, card key in one of her hands that he's got pinned above her, leg between hers, when his phone beeps and they break apart. 

"We should really talk about this," Jake says, breathing hard. 

Amy pulls her hair back into a low bun, tucking the end into the center to secure it, then tugs the shirt hem down lower. "Do you really want to?" 

"Nope," he replies immediately. "I'm really bad at talking about feelings." He runs a hand along her arm, fingers feather-light against her skin and Amy has a strange feeling of déjà vu. "But we probably should." 

Her brain takes a second to catch up. "Wait, feelings?" Her chest suddenly feels really tight. 

"Yeah…" He trails off, and looks at his feet, one hand rubbing the back of his head. "I kinda….really like you. You're smart and hot and I like being around you and stuff, and I--" 

She grabs the front of his leather jacket, teeth of the zipper cutting into her palms and she just doesn't care. She pulls him in and kisses him, a toe-curling electric kiss that leaves them both breathing hard when they break apart. "Me too," she says, smiling wide and bright. "Me too." 

They walk out of the hotel room holding hands.

**Author's Note:**

> In theory I have one more fic for this challenge but ehh we'll see. Hotel they're in is based loosely on The Borgata, in Atlantic City, but they're totally not in AC because something something something jurisdictions.


End file.
